Living Proof

by Kira Peikoff

  * * *

  As Trent watched Arianna step out of her clinic on Friday evening, he immediately noticed that something was different: In one hand, she was carrying a strange black case. Although the edges appeared rectangular, it bulged around the middle; the shape was unlike any carrier Trent had ever seen. Despite its bulk, it did not appear to be heavy—her fingers curled easily around the handle as if it were a Styrofoam lunch box.

  Trent rose from his furtive bench in the corner of the park and followed her east on a now-recognizable path, as the people around him hurried to escape the city for Christmas weekend. He and Arianna were planning to leave the next day, but she had rejected his suggestion to stay in Long Island overnight, emphasizing the need to return to Manhattan for Sunday morning Mass on Christmas Day. Being fed her lies disgusted and even disappointed him, if he was honest with himself.

  She was walking slightly faster now, as she had become more adept with her cane, but her pace was still below a comfortable walking speed, requiring Trent to maximize the distance between them. The rush hour crowd pounded the sidewalks, helping to obscure him in their midst. She kept walking east, crossing one avenue after another, with a purposeful stride and confident posture. It struck Trent as odd, despite her hampered gait, that she was considered handicapped: far from being a helpless woman, she projected self-sufficiency. Her attitude of strength seemed to negate her body’s weakness, and he could not deny that it endowed her with even greater beauty. A beauty that he now thought was undeserved.

  They crossed Fourth Avenue, and then Third, Second, First, like a straight arrow through the heart of the East Village. As he trailed her, Trent thought about his most recent instruction, one that unsettled and excited him: to divulge something to Arianna so that she would feel obligated to return the confidence.

  “It’s human psychology,” Dopp had explained at the office that afternoon. “She will think you are trusting her if you open up about yourself, and will feel compelled to do the same. Make her think you are bonding in ways that are private and exclusive to your relationship.”

  It was a smart move, Trent thought, but one that required careful planning, and for now, he was at a loss. Better to focus on the present. Where in the world was she going? The farther east they walked, the more the streets were lined with decrepit buildings and stooped beggars. It was not a neighborhood Trent pictured Arianna frequenting, but she appeared unfazed by her surroundings.

  At Avenue C, she turned left and out of sight. Far behind, Trent hurried up to the corner, dodging panhandlers, and peeked around it. She was turning right two blocks up ahead, at Tenth Street. He dashed there, charging across the shadow of a familiarly dilapidated church. He turned the corner just in time to see her disappear again, turning right into an alleyway between Avenues C and D. Where the hell? he thought—but he had no time to dwell on the bizarreness of her path: he poked his head into the alleyway, fearful for her to be venturing there alone. It was narrow, like an accidental crack in the city’s grid. The backs of buildings on either side blocked out the sun’s low rays, and the space was deserted, save for Arianna’s silhouette receding into its depths, the black case close at her side.

  Abruptly, she stopped, slipped her cane underneath her arm, and gripped a black railing on the right side of the alley. As Trent looked on, baffled, Arianna stepped down a staircase until he could see only her torso, her shoulders, her head. Like the sun dipping below the horizon, it was too captivating to turn away, despite the danger of watching. Then she was gone.

  Trent stared at the spot where she had vanished beneath the street, racking his brain for an explanation. Was it an illusion? Where was he? What was happening? He put his fingertips on his forehead. A fleeting sense of disorientation made him glance up to the sky, but he never got that far. Instead, his gaze stopped on the steeple above the stairs she had descended.

  NINE

  So you didn’t lie to me after all, Trent thought, wiping his hand across his forehead. You are going to church.

  He stared at the black railing Arianna had clutched only moments before. What could she be doing at the bottom of those stairs?

  He had not moved from the edge of the alley, as if walking into or away from it would lead to an irreversible error: either a premature revelation of his identity or a wasted opportunity to possibly catch Arianna mid-crime. Careful, he told himself. Think.

  He knew he had to consider his options, but then he also needed to ignore the feeling of vindication pumping through him, rejoicing at the fact she had not actually lied to him about attending church. Did this mean she really was Christian? Maybe she was part of a fringe sect that held their services underground for religious reasons, although that seemed unlikely. Suspicious, yes, he thought. But criminal? Uncertain. Do I have probable cause to go after her? No. Would following her down the steps damage any hope of solving the case? Possibly.

  He took a step back. I’ll wait to act, he thought, until I investigate this place later myself, and I’ll wait to tell Dopp until I have it figured out; why get him all excited for nothing?

  Trent retreated from the alley and hailed a cab at the first corner. He strained to recall what, exactly, Arianna had told him about her religion and the frequency of her church attendance. That night in her apartment, her tone had conveyed a subtle sarcasm that he did not understand at the time, but now, he felt as if he might be on the verge of deciphering why she had laughed so easily at his disbelief.

  The watch, he remembered, her words were on the watch! He looked at the device on his left wrist that managed to be both old-fashioned and high-tech, and rewound it to their conversation from that night. Then he listened:

  “What, are you imagining I have some secret double life? Doctor by day, superwoman by night?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Well, it might come as a surprise, but I’m actually going to church.”

  His shocked laughter. “Why?”

  “To practice my religion.”

  “Well, what’s your religion?”

  “I go to a Christian church, like most everyone else.”

  Trent rewound the recording for a split second.

  “I go to a Christian church, like most everyone else.”

  “Which one?”

  “It’s a small congregation in the East Village. You wouldn’t know it.”

  Gaping, he stopped the recording and cleared through the fog of his own assumptions to recognize a fact that had escaped him:

  She never said she was Christian.

  His mind reeled from this realization for a few seconds before launching the next, inevitable questions: So what was really her religion? Why that carcass of a church?

  He pictured her hobbled figure retreating into the alley.

  And what was in that black case?

  * * *

  On the train ride to Long Island together the next day, Trent’s desire for the truth was maddening. It sprang not only from professional determination, but also from the hope lodged in his heart like a stray bullet—unwanted and yet impossible to remove. Such a stubborn wish—for her to be as innocent as the embryos in her care—persisted against his better instincts.

  He felt even worse for her genuine excitement about meeting his family. A homemade chocolate cake sat on her lap, covered in tinfoil. Trent pictured her limping around her kitchen, gathering all the right ingredients to please the people who meant so much to him. How could she know how pathetic an effort it was?

  “Hey,” he blurted after they left the train and got into a cab, “I know we haven’t talked much about religion, but I thought you should know my family’s actually pretty religious.”

  She looked surprised. “They are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. I didn’t imagine them that way.”

  You weren’t supposed to, he thought.

  “Yeah. I just thought I should—” Warn you, he almost said. “—tell you, in case you weren’t expecting it.”

 
“I wasn’t,” she said, not unkindly. “I didn’t think you grew up religious.”

  “Yeah. I’m not so much now,” he said truthfully. “But they still think I am.”

  “Let me make sure I have everyone straight,” Arianna said. “Your uncle Gideon is your father’s brother.”

  “Right.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “He’s a retired consultant.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “His wife is pregnant with their third kid, so he’s staying home to help raise them.”

  “Wow, that’s a big age difference between you and your cousins.”

  “Yeah. His wife is fifteen years younger.” Trent smiled; this fact was true.

  “Got it. And what are the kids’ names?”

  He swallowed, straining to filter this previously minor information from his memory. “Abby,” he said, remembering her picture on Dopp’s desk. “And Ethan.”

  The cab pulled up in front of a house on a cul-de-sac lined with basketball hoops and neat lawns. His parents’ black sedan was already parked on the curb.

  On the doormat, Trent noticed the Christian fish symbol next to the word WELCOME. His parents had a similar mat. He stepped on it as he rang the bell.

  As he heard cheerful dings echo inside the house, Trent felt oddly removed, as if he were watching himself on the doorstep, watching the door swing open.…

  And then Dopp was before them, burly and smiling. He wore a red collared shirt and khaki slacks, the first time Trent had seen him without a suit and tie.

  “Trent, so good to see you!” he exclaimed, pulling him into a hug that felt uncomfortably close. Trent smelled tangy cologne on his neck and fought the urge to stiffen. Upon release, he inched back.

  “Uncle Gideon, this is Arianna. Arianna, Uncle Gideon.”

  Arianna smiled and leaned in to kiss his clean-shaven cheek. “Nice to meet you.”

  Trent looked down, as if privy to a vulgar sight.

  “Likewise,” Dopp answered. “Merry Christmas,” he added, looking only at her.

  “Same to you,” she said, extending the chocolate cake. “Thank you for having me.”

  “How nice,” Dopp said, taking it. “Come on in. What happened?” He pointed to her cane.

  “I had a bike accident last week,” she replied.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Arianna took off her coat, wearing underneath a red satin dress cut in a straight line above her breasts. No one could fault it for being too revealing, as it showed no cleavage, but Trent thought it somehow inappropriate. It teased her curves, exposed her naked collarbone.

  He breathed in the house’s warm, spicy aroma, like the inside of a cinnamon candle. The smell was pleasant, though his throat seemed unnaturally narrow. He took Arianna’s hand as they followed Dopp through the foyer into a living room where his parents and Dopp’s wife were sitting. His parents rose at the sight of them. Trent smiled tentatively and felt his nervousness escalate, the way he used to feel when he acted in front of his theater class in high school: unable to lose himself in the character, aware that everybody could see through his pretense anyway.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said to them, arms outstretched. They chorused it back, both hugging him. Trent noticed they looked stiffer than usual; his mother’s embrace felt mechanical, and his father’s smile—usually so genuine—was surely a veneer that concealed the wheels of judgment spinning behind his eyes.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Arianna,” Trent said. “Arianna, my parents.”

  “So pleased to meet you both,” Arianna said. She leaned in to kiss his father’s cheek. Dopp’s wife rose with effort from the couch, and Dopp hurried to her side to help her up. She was heavily pregnant, and looked haggard, with stringy brown hair and swollen legs. She had a small oval face with chiseled features; Trent had seen a pretty picture of her before, but in person, he noticed the bags under her eyes and the effort with which she smiled first at him, and then at Arianna.

  “Welcome,” she said, giving Trent a one-armed hug and then shaking Arianna’s hand. “I’m Joanie, Gideon’s wife. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” Arianna said, glancing sideways at him, and then back to Joanie. “Are the kids upstairs?”

  “Oh, no,” Joanie responded. “They’re at a kids’ event at our church that’s held every Christmas Eve. They look forward to it every year. Sorry you won’t get to meet them.”

  “That’s too bad,” Trent said, contemplating the irony that the adults had banished the children for fear that honesty might disrupt their grown-up machinations.

  Dopp smiled at Trent as though he could read this thought, and put an arm around his wife’s waist. Like an airborne virus, awkwardness struck. They stood in a silent cluster, and Trent knew they were all wary of speaking first, paralyzed by the fear that the slightest slipup would doom them all. In the corner of the room, he noticed a twinkling six-foot-tall tree decorated in gold bulbs. Shiny boxes lay wrapped beneath.

  “You have a beautiful tree,” he remarked.

  “Thank you,” Dopp said. “I did it all myself this year.”

  “That’s not true,” Joanie said. “I put up a few of the lower bulbs.”

  “You weren’t supposed to help,” Dopp replied, kissing his wife on the cheek.

  “When are you due?” Arianna asked her.

  “January thirtieth.”

  Arianna smiled. “Just a few more weeks to go.”

  “Five,” Joanie said.

  “It’ll go by before you know it.”

  “So is it too early to break out the champagne?” Trent asked.

  Heads shook all around.

  “I’m starving,” his mother said. “Any chance the chicken is ready?”

  Dopp nodded. “Just about. Why don’t we all go sit down. Trent, would you like to help me serve?”

  “Sure.”

  Joanie led Arianna and his parents out into the dining room, while Dopp escorted him the other direction into a large kitchen that smelled of rosemary.

  “So?” Dopp said, setting Arianna’s cake dish on the granite counter. “Any progress since yesterday?”

  Trent thought of the deserted alley and the decrepit church.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  A troubled look clouded Dopp’s face. “Do you ever feel dirty around her?”

  Trent nodded guiltily, surprised at Dopp’s perceptiveness; lying had never felt right to him, even when he knew it was.

  Dopp turned to face the sink and thrust his hands under the sensor-activated faucet. “Like after being with her, you can never be fully cleansed?”

  Oh, Trent thought, that kind of dirty. He watched the water spraying off his boss’s hands. “Yeah,” he lied. “I know how you feel.”

  Dopp dried his hands. “So did you confess anything like we talked about?”

  “Not yet.” What could he confess to her?

  “Do it tonight, after you leave.”

  “I will.”

  “Now, let’s get back out there. I should get to know her a little better.”

  * * *

  As soon as they were all seated with plates full of chicken, yams, and broccoli, Arianna lifted her fork to a table of watchful silence. Trent put a hand on her thigh under the table, and she set it down.

  “Let us first say the Lord’s Prayer,” Dopp said. “If everybody would like to repeat it with me…”

  They bowed their heads and began in unison.

  “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.…” Trent sneaked a glance around the table: Dopp’s gaze had settled upon Arianna’s barely moving lips. “Give us this, our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”

  Heads lifted. Trent crossed his fingers under the tab
le, hoping his boss would not seize upon Arianna’s obvious disregard of the most famous prayer in Christianity. But to his relief, Dopp continued to speak.

  “And on this Christmas Eve, let us all take a moment to remember the Lord Jesus Christ’s ultimate sacrifice.”

  Dopp dropped his chin to his chest, as did everyone else. Ten seconds passed before Dopp lifted his head and cleared his throat.

  “Bon appétit!” he declared.

  Trent’s mother and father echoed the words and lifted their forks. Arianna smiled at Dopp. “I don’t know if you’re a good cook yet,” she said, “but it definitely smells like it.”

  Trent stared at the food on his plate, wondering what he could stomach in the absence of hunger.

  “I hope so,” Dopp replied. “So, Arianna, Trent tells us you’re a doctor at a fertility clinic?”

  “Yes,” she said happily. “That’s my baby.”

  Trent’s mother gave a small laugh. “That must be such a rewarding career.”

  “It is,” Arianna replied. “Most of the time. Speaking of babies, how’s your pregnancy going, Joanie?”

  “Surprisingly well for my age. Although not so much when I was younger. In fact, a few years ago, Gideon and I went to several fertility clinics, and they were all frauds.”

  Trent stared at Joanie. At least pretend to treat her like a guest, he thought.

  Arianna chewed a mouthful of chicken and swallowed before she spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Dopp shot a glance at his wife, who was watching Arianna.

  “We believe only in the natural way now,” Joanie said. “God didn’t want us to interfere with all those drugs.”

  Arianna didn’t respond, taking a sip of her Coke instead.

  “Whatever works, right?” Trent said breezily.

  “So, do you do abortions there?” Joanie asked. Trent’s mother gasped, and Joanie turned to her. “Don’t pretend we’re not all wondering, Becky.”

  Arianna held Joanie’s gaze. “Not since it was outlawed.”

  “But you did before that?”

  “Yes. But I can see we have our differences, so I’d rather not discuss it, as it’s been a moot point for a long time.”